Sashenka, my dear friend, from the short letter you will find on the table, you will see that you must seek for the explanation of my death in this diary. Read it carefully, my dear, read it in a friendly spirit, and you will understand, and perhaps approve of my resolve to quit a life where I was so superfluous, and where I suffered so much. I know you love me. I have a sacred belief in your love. I will carry this belief to our dear Lidotchka in her solitude that I am soon to join with so much joy and gladness. Yes, with joy and gladness, Sashenka. Don’t worry yourself with the thought that I died suffering, that I died in terror. I am glad to cast off this wearisome life. I am but a weak creature, Sashenka. For three weeks I have kept from you the knowledge that I have lost my work, and that we were faced with starvation. I was ashamed to confess my inefficiency in the battle of life. Another, a stronger man, would have got out of his difficulties, and found himself some other work, but I couldn’t. What was the good of me? To live on public charity I have no right and no desire to do. There are men who have more claim on the public than I. I saw a company of wounded arrive at the station yesterday, and the bitterness of their lot made me weep. These are the men the public must help.
As for you, my sad beauty, my heart of gold, I am no longer a young man, and my person could not have been attractive to you—it was only your goodness of heart that induced you to love me. When I am gone you will be free; I only stood in your way. I was but a poor husband to you! I did not lead you with a firm hand along the difficult path of life, nor did I illumine the darkness for you with the light of my wisdom. I was unkind, petty and egoistic. I could hide my head with shame when I think of the way I used to blame you for my digestion. It was I, too, who tried to drag you away from yourself-denying work at the hospital. I complained of not being able to look after the children, forgetting that you had learned the more difficult task of looking after the wounded. To think of the injured expression I used to put on whenever you came home, or when I visited you at the hospital, and criticised your arrangements! Please, dear, forget one thing—forget what I said to you when Lidotchka died. Wipe out those base words from your memory and the cruel reproaches, or I shall never be able to rest in my grave.
When the children grow up, so that they may have no cause to be ashamed of their father, don’t tell them what you know about me. Sashenka, I have been cursed by Mother Russia. I heard her voice plainly yesterday when I saw our blind and maimed heroes as they returned from Germany. They were our defenders, Sashenka, yours and mine; it broke my heart to see their misery. The few useless tears I shed would never have seen the light of day had I not strolled by accident into the railway station. “Be thou accursed, base son!” I heard the voice of Russia say. It was not delusion, Sashenka, it wasn’t a dream; I heard it as plainly as could be.
You may think it madness. It would pain me to have you think that. There was a time when I was mad, dear, but that was in the days before I heard Russia’s voice, in the days when I used to beat my breast and boast of my righteousness like a Pharisee, and sit in judgment upon those who fought. Had I been a German, Germany too, must have cursed me, for the Germans have their wounded—the blind and maimed, who fought to defend the rest. What have I done for Russia, Sashenka, in her dreadful hour of need? The only thing I have done was not to rob her, but was that enough? I knew the country was in danger; I used to repeat the words like a parrot, but what did I do? Nothing! What damnation is contained in that one word!
Unflinchingly I carry out the sentence of death with my own hand—spies and traitors must die alike, for there is no room for them on earth. Russia’s maternal voice has cursed me, and I cannot, I dare not live. How could I look anyone in the face after that? I am so useless, Sashenka, so superfluous that not a void will remain even in the place where I once was. No one will notice my absence, no one will know that I am gone. One thing only fills me with dread. What if our Lidotchka turns from me when I find her among the heavenly angels? But no, they must surely understand better there than here. Perhaps the cruel suffering with which I paid for my insignificance—vain and inglorious as it was—may be counted in my favour. There are no strong and weak there; all are equal; there may be a refuge in the folds of Christ’s garments even for me. I have settled my accounts on earth, and in heaven there will be new reckonings.
I hope you will be happy, my dear, my wonderful wife. May God bless you for the love you gave me, for your gentleness and patience, for every touch of your beloved hand. Don’t mourn for me. Have the same Mass said for the three of us—Pavel, warrior fallen in the field, Lidotchka and for me. Make no attempt to find my body; it will be carried far out to sea. Goodbye, my dear, goodbye.